Vital Lies
by Aspen Starlight
Summary: What if Neal had spoken about something else while he was drugged? Just who is Neal Caffrey? And who is this Chuck person? Neal's secret could be put in jeopardy, and if that happens...
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Vital Lies**

**Author: Lady Black-Malfoy**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: **Takes place during episode 1x10 Vital Signs of White Collar, and after 2x22 Chuck Versus the Ring of Chuck. What if Neal had spoken about something else while he was drugged? Just who is Neal Caffrey? And who is this Chuck person? Neal's secret could be put in jeopardy, and if that happens...

**AN:** Hello everyone! So this is my first White Collar/Chuck fanfiction and I'm pretty excited to post it. I've had the idea since Vital Signs aired, and since Chuck was just picked up for a fourth season I thought I'd celebrate. I have one more chapter of this planned and I'll try and get it done as soon as I can, but I might just wait till the White Collar episodes rerun again in July. Anyway, this will lead into another story crossover I have planned for over the summer called **White Lies.** I have the first chapter and plot outline of it done even, but since I have three other stories going I think I'll wait to post it. If you would like to see it that bad though I can send it to anyone who asks. :D Hope you like it!

**Chapter One**

"I've done so many worse things, you don't even know about!" Neal Caffrey slurred as he was still delirious from the drug cocktail that nurse had injected him with. He looked up with unfocused eyes at the man who had just deposited him onto the floor of the clinic's conference room. FBI Agent Peter Burke glanced down at the usually composed man and suppressed a sigh. In normal circumstances, he might have laughed at how the normally composed Neal was acting. Now; however, he was just upset that the con man didn't listen to him. Said man had started humming again.

Annoyed Peter barked down at Neal, "Shut up!"

The man obliged but what Neal had said made Peter curious. Being a con man meant Neal didn't trust many people, if any. Now that he was drugged off his ass, Peter thought he seemed to be a little more loosely lipped. Maybe he'd be able to get Neal to spill why the kid felt had felt the need to go off on his own and these 'worse things' that Neal had apparently done.

So Peter asked, as he bent back closer to the man, "Like what?" Neal smiled blindingly in reply but the hazy look in his eyes showed just how out of it he really was. He was able to focus on Peter though, and still grinning Neal leant closer so the agent would be able to hear his reply.

"I lied to you Peter. Lied to everyone," Neal whispered and rolled his head closer to Peter. "Cause my name isn't Neal. Course it's not." He said this like it was stupid of Peter to assume Neal was his real name.

As an FBI agent, Peter had seen people drugged before but he'd never expected to see Neal like this. To be honest, he hadn't been expecting anything like the situation they were currently in. Since his wife Elizabeth had given him that fax and he realized that Neal was in trouble, thousands of horrible scenarios careened across his mind. From Neal getting shot to Neal's broken and bruised body showing up in an alley somewhere, during the whole drive over to the clinic he was extremely tense not to mention frightened for the con man.

The last feeling puzzled him, though. Peter wondered when Neal had become more than just a felon to him. Maybe it was when Neal had given him that air supply in the comic book vault of death or it could have been after that, when the man said he trusted Peter. Either way, something between the two had changed. Now he didn't see a hopeless case, he saw a rather vulnerable man hidden behind masks and, for some reason, Peter felt compelled to try and help him. Still he felt torn. If what Neal had just said was true about his name, what else was the man hiding?

With so many thoughts running through his head, Peter leaned back on his heels and ran a hand over his face. For however much he liked the kid, sometimes it just felt like too much. Peter was snapped out of his internal debate when Neal suddenly broke into a song again, this time singing "That's not my name, that's not my name, they call me- " Panic flashed across Peter's face and he hurried to shut the con man up by slapping a hand over Neal's open mouth.

With the hand that was on Neal's face now, Peter turned Neal's head so that he was looking into hazy silver blue eyes again. "Hey, shhhh. We don't want them to find us in here remember?" Neal's eyes lit up in remembrance and he nodded vigorously so Peter removed his hand. Realizing that perhaps now was not really the time to be analyzing his feelings for Neal, he let it drop. _El would have probably thought it cute though_, he thought with a grimace that turned into a quick glance at the door as footsteps could be heard walking down the hall.

Peter threw a hand over Neal's mouth again to keep him quiet, and he tensed up placing a hand on his gun. Not that he would really use it, but it made him more comfortable. A relived whoosh of air escaped him once the footsteps retreated; though, it had been way to close for comfort.

Somehow, he would have to get the loopy con man downstairs without anyone being any the wiser. Unfortunately, none of his FBI training had been about 'How to get a drugged singing con man past a high tech security system.'. He'd have to wing it and hope for the best.

Neal had leaned back against the wall then continued from before, "But I've done something even worse than that," Neal murmured softly. Peter leant back still contemplating what Neal had said before and then he narrowed his eyes. Like earlier, the idea that he had been lied too bothered him; however, he figured that it was probably the drugs talking and sighing in exasperation he got up out of the crouched position he was previously in. Quicker than he expected, a surprisingly firm grip dragged Peter back down to Neal's level.

Neal looked at him oddly, almost with a feverish intensity and continued lowly, "There's more to it than that Peter. I ruined Chucks life! I promised to keep him safe. I lied to get him kicked out of Stanford. It all worked but he hated me for it. Then there was Sarah." Neal let go of Peter's arm, and gazed off miserably as if caught in painful memories. Peter just watched curiously. He'd never heard of this Sarah or Chuck being mentioned by Neal before and Peter knew almost as much about the man as Neal himself did.

Neal mumbled on, seemingly lost in old memories. "I loved Sarah but good old Chuck got to her. Chuck and his Chucks!" A slightly hysterical laugh escaped him without warning and Peter shot a startled look at the man on the floor. Suddenly Neal glanced up and the expression on his face was so serious that for a moment Peter wondered what happened to the hopped up Neal.

"Then, I got shot again. Not Casey this time, though, don't worry Peter," he reassured. Neal grabbed Peter's arm again to pull him closer as if Peter knew who this Casey person was. "It was the worst thing I'd ever done, watching Chuck and Sarah in that room, so I left." Neal kept on talking and even though Peter had no clue what to make of the seemingly mindless babble. He did listen, though, albeit sparing a moment to check his watch again.

"General Beckman said it would be for 'the best'," the con man said as he clumsily tried to make air quotations. Failing miserably though, he put his arms back down. "Don't have any more friends though. No more friends that sing together…."

"Neal focus! I don't know what the hell you're mumbling about but that doesn't matter now. Do you understand that you'll go back to jail for this?" Peter asked seriously from his kneeling position on the floor. Staring into the unfocused eyes of the man, as if to try and get the point across that way, the FBI agent realized that just like his thoughts on Neal, now was not really a great time to think about it. Time was running out and they had a tough escape ahead, considering that they still had to get past the numerous guards and cameras situated throughout the upscale clinic.

"Words taste like pineapples!" was the only reply to Peter's question from the con man seated on the floor.

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**Please review, I love feedback! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Vital Lies**

**Author: Lady Black-Malfoy**

**Rating: T**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own White Collar, or Chuck. So don't sue me, okay?

**Summary: **Takes place during episode 1x10 Vital Signs of White Collar, and after 2x22 Chuck Versus the Ring of Chuck. What if Neal had spoken about something else while he was drugged? Just who is Neal Caffrey? And who is this Chuck person? Neal's secret could be put in jeopardy, and if that happens...

**A/N: **I should probably mention something plot related. Last chapter's dialogue replaced the dialogue about manuscripts and carrier pigeons in the episode 'Vital Signs'. So Neal did still say that Peter is the only person he trusts. If this doesn't make sense, let me know. I'd posted the first chapter and realized I probably should have continued a bit, but since it's been out for a while, I'm leaving it alone. By the way, this is the last chapter of this story, and the sequel 'Cascade Effects' will be posted once I have at least five chapters written. Let me know what you think of this chapter! And of course, thanks for reading! Big thanks to my betas lauraac2110, AwesomeQueenoftheLab, and the-vampire-act !

* * *

_Chapter Two_

_Images flashed across the screens and went straight into his consciousness, literally. A bird, a dead body, an umbrella, an agent's dossier, a rabbit, a karate kata and it went on and on and on. They burned into his brain. Everything hurt. He wanted to shut his eyes, but something deep down told him to ignore the pain. Bryce complied._

_He had been tortured before, though for some reason, this pain was much worse. It felt like his head was splitting, and he could feel his body releasing a cry of anguish. Thankfully, the other occupant in the room was also out of it, albeit not nearly as bad as he was. After all, this was more of an update for Chuck than anything. For Bryce, it was totally foreign and, even though he was smart, his brain wasn't wired like his friend's._

_The Agency doctors had warned him at least, but that still didn't compare to the real life agony. Suddenly, the screens went blank so that he was released allowing his limp body slumped further down the wall. Over by the console, Chuck was also finished with the download, yet unlike Bryce, he was just a bit shaken. Unfortunately, darkness came quickly and the last thing Bryce saw before he lost his tenuous grip on consciousness was Chuck's dazed face._

_

* * *

_

Neal Caffrey let out a low moan and turned over in his sleep. In the darkened area that was Peter Burke's living room, the agent watched his friend toss and turn on the couch.

"Mmhmm hurts…" Neal mumbled into his pillow.

Peter sat back in his chair and nursed his beer. It was late, past midnight, but he was still awake. Neal, on the other hand, was out of it. The drugs from earlier in the day had obviously taken a toll on the kid and he was trying to sleep it off. He wasn't really succeeding though, as to Peter it seemed like he was having a nightmare of some sort. A while back Neal had even mentioned that Chuck name again, and when Neal had finally settled, Peter thought about the events of yesterday.

In all the time he had spent chasing Neal, Peter had never heard of anyone with that name. Nothing. That afternoon, after he and Neal had discussed the Powell case and the man had fallen back asleep, Peter had gone straight to the office. The first thing he had done was pull up the FBI database and then Neal's file but he could find no mention of Sarah or this Chuck guy. Peter knew he could have let it go, blamed it on the drugs, it was just that the investigator in him had been bothered by something.

The Stanford comment was another thing puzzling him. According to the file, and from what Peter knew, Neal had never attended school there or anywhere on that side of the country. Right out of high-school, the con-man had gotten a scholarship to the Cooper Union, one of the more prestigious New York art schools. Soon after he had dropped out and vanished. Peter, along with the FBI, had no information on the incident that prompted the departure since it had been a few years before Neal had even shown up on their radar. Well, Peter's radar, more specifically.

"Honey, you okay?" A soft voice shattered the silence and his thoughts. Elizabeth, his wife, had entered the living room and practically plopped down into his lap. While she curled up in his arms, he set the now almost empty bottle of beer on one of the nearby tables.

He gave her a soft kiss in greeting before he answered her. "I'm not sure, El. There's just something bothering me about this whole thing." Peter glanced over at Neal and saw that the kid had knocked almost all the covers El had put on off. She followed his gaze and sighed.

"Is it something about the case or Neal? I mean, even I have to admit it was a surprise to see Neal so out of it this afternoon. He even called me Kate!" El whispered quietly, eyeing Neal with concern in her eyes. "Then he realized it was me and actually apologized. But it was still a shock."

Before he answered, Peter gathered his thoughts. "It is Neal. He said something odd to me too, and it's just been bugging me," he said, then asked, "Have you ever heard him mention a Chuck before? I don't think that he meant for the name to slip, but it did and I can't find a connection between Neal and the name. From the way he was talking it sounded like he was an old friend of some sort."

She shook her head apologetically before answering, "He's never mentioned a Chuck to me. Though, we never really talked about his past before either. That's why Kate's name startled me so much, I think. I know it's painful for him to talk about, so I always make sure to steer clear of the subject."

A thoughtful expression then crossed El's face and she spoke slowly, "You know, Chuck sounds more like a nickname of some sort. Have you tried maybe Charlie, or Charles?"

"I didn't think of that. Why didn't I think of that?" Peter scolded himself. In a way, it was obvious. Chuck was a rather odd name, and names like Charles were much more common. Now he had to wait until morning to do another crosscheck of Neal's file and the new names along with the other name, Sarah. He had to do it without Neal noticing too, which, considering the fact that Peter's office also happened to be Neal's office would complicate matters. Maybe he could get Jones to help. His wife's sudden question broke the train of thought.

"Did he mention anything else?" she asked. El had a feeling there was a bit more to the story due to Peter's continued silence.

"Ah, yeah, actually," he muttered distractedly, now trying to remember the conversation. "He said something about a Sarah. It sounded like an ex- of some sort maybe."

"Do you think that this was before Kate even?" El asked quietly before she reached around him for the bottle of beer he had set down. Taking a sip, she gazed into his troubled eyes and waited for an answer.

"It would have to be. Neal may seem like a player, but he has eyes only for that woman." He frowned as he thought about it then said, "Besides, from the way Neal was talking about it, it seemed like Chuck got to her first or something like that. It was a bit hard to follow his drugged mumblings."

El stretched out to set the bottle back down then exclaimed, "Poor Neal! Imagine some guy just coming and taking me away."

"I'd rather not," Peter interjected ruefully.

"And you don't have to!" El smiled at him before she continued, "Maybe Neal is obsessed with Kate because she was there for him when he needed comforting after Sarah, or something like that. To have her suddenly ripped away when you put him in jail must have be traumatizing for him. You still think that she's playing him, though, don't you?"

Light from a car going past the house illuminated Peter's face for a moment, and El could see the familiar peeved expression that crossed his face whenever Kate was being discussed. The car passed moments later; however, and the room was again shrouded in darkness.

"I do," he admitted, "and I've tried telling him to just let her go. But, he still thinks Fowler is controlling her and he won't let me tell him otherwise."

The frustration he felt was evident in his voice, and El was at a loss as to how to fix it. She did say, "I think he loves her too much to believe otherwise, Peter."

"I agree, El," he said tiredly. In his opinion, though Kate wasn't around, she still made her presence known more than he liked. He let his head roll back and settle against the chair comfortably. There was a nagging feeling that he was still forgetting something from yesterday. Something important.

Abruptly, it came to him and his head shot off the chair. Running over what he remembered of the conversation, he didn't quite realize what Neal had said at the time, but now he definitely wished he hadn't heard it.

"Peter? Peter!" She shook his shoulders when he didn't respond right away. When he had suddenly gone stiff like a board, she had a feeling that something was wrong. Even though it was dark in the living room, from what little light filtered in from outside, El could see that Peter had suddenly gotten about two shades paler. Worry cut through her like a knife and she grabbed the sides of his face so that he was now staring into her eyes.

"Peter? What is it? He said something else, too, didn't he?" she guessed, as her eyes rapidly scanning his face for some clue of the reason for the silence.

He swallowed heavily and looked away. To be honest, he was surprised that he had forgotten that bit of the conversation. Nevertheless, it explained a lot. Now he was extremely hesitant to tell El, since he knew how much she liked Neal and absolutely hated seeing him hurt. The scene from that afternoon had really shaken her up, so he wasn't sure how she would take this new information.

"He, ah," Peter started, then paused, trying to figure out a way to break it to her softly. Elizabeth wasn't going to take this well at all, so he might as well get it over with. "Well, I didn't pay much attention to it at the time, but he, ah," lowering his voice he finished, "he said that he got shot. Again."

El's grip on his shirt tightened, and her blue eyes shot over to the man lying on the couch. "That's horrible," she whispered. "Who would want to shoot him?"

"Well, let's think. If you were a con-man, who do you think? I'm sure it's a long list. Peeved victims or, mobsters maybe. Charm doesn't get you everywhere. Heck, there were a few times even I wanted to shoot him," Peter admitted.

When he had first started chasing Neal five years ago, they had very little information to go on. It had been his first case with the White Collar Unit, and really his only case until he finally put Neal in prison.

The team had been small– only Peter, another agent named Laura Miles, and few more agents if they were free. Miles was a brilliant Document Analyst assigned only because Caffrey seemed to deal more with bonds than guns. After confirming the forgeries, and once Neal was behind bars, Miles had retired to spend more time with her family, while Peter continued with other cases.

Sometimes, looking back on it, Peter thought that it had been almost too easy. For the first two years it had been like chasing shadows. Certain periods, Neal would just appear, then within the week he would be gone. Caffrey was suspected for everything from racketeering, to art theft and securities fraud. Nothing stuck, though, until suddenly Caffrey slipped up and Miles caught a discrepancy on a bond – a single fingerprint.

Forensic technicians ran it through the IAFIS, or the integrated automated fingerprint identification system, and a Fingerprint Specialist had confirmed that it was from Neal Caffrey's right index finger. They cited that perhaps a glove ripped, but the specialists were skeptical. The print was almost to perfect. If a glove had ripped then the best they could have gotten was a partial print. However, it was more than enough to receive a warrant for Caffrey's arrest, and Peter was finally able to bring him in.

The FBI agent still remembered the look on Neal's face when he saw the agent standing there, waiting to arrest him. Misery had been etched in every line of the young face as he held out his hands to be cuffed. There were perhaps more lines then should have been present in such a young person. Neal had looked tired, much like he did lying on Peter's couch right now.

"Don't you have his medical records? The FBI, I mean," El elaborated when he glanced down at her.

Peter shook his head and replied, "No, he's just a consultant. The Bureau isn't that strict with something like that. And I have a feeling that most of his records would be forged anyway. I mean, he even said that Neal Caffrey wasn't his name! I thought that maybe it was the drugs, but I'm still not sure."

His wife turned her eyes to the sleeping man in slight shock and asked, "If his name isn't really Neal, then what is it?"

"I have no clue anymore," Peter said, then sighed and leaned his head back against the easy chair.

She had the feeling that he wasn't just talking about Neal's name. Eyes still glued to Neal, El rested her head on Peter's cotton clad chest and bunched some of it in her hands. An ominous feeling that something big was going to happen soon swept though her, and she only gripped tighter.

* * *

It was five o'clock in the morning, and Peter was eating a quick breakfast with El before he and Neal went to work. They had to inform the team of the lead Neal had gotten yesterday, though he would probably not tell them just how they got said lead. A noise from the living room alerted Peter that his friend was finally waking up. Smiling at his wife, he set down the cereal bowl and headed into the adjacent room.

Neal had thrown his legs over the side of the couch, and when Peter walked in, he looked up. From a cursory glance, the man looked much better. The usually bright grey eyes were clear of the drug haze from yesterday although now they held a certain coldness that had not been present before. Peter knew that he had to be extremely careful with this one, and it took him a moment to even decide just what he wanted to say.

"Morning, feeling a bit better today? Headache finally gone?" Peter inquired softly in case the headache was still present.

Running a hand through his thick hair, Neal responded, "Good morning to you too. To answer your first question, yes. Still have a bit of a headache though. It should go away after I get up and start moving around more."

Peter nodded in acknowledgment and said, "Good, good. I have a few more questions about yesterday though. Think you can handle it?"

"Fire away Peter," the con-man stated tiredly as if resigned to his fate, and he fell back against the couch.

"Do you remember anything you said after you were sent to cloud-nine?" the agent asked; getting straight to the point as he settled into the chair he and El had just occupied last night. The FBI agent closely watched Neal's body language, and he saw the con-man tense almost imperceptibly before relaxing. Peter was trained to look for cues like that, but he waited before judging just to see what Neal would say.

"I'm sorry Peter, but that whole time frame is blank for me. I remember before they got me, just nothing after until I woke up here," Neal answered. To the untrained eye it may have looked like Neal was frustrated. After all, missing a part of your memory would be a scary thing. Neal's voice was surprisingly even as he looked up and asked Peter, "Why? I didn't say anything, did I?"

In that split second, gazing into Neal's icy eyes, Peter made a decision. It was something that he had thought about in bed last night, but wasn't sure if he could do. Leaning back in the chair, he pasted on a fake smile of his own before he answered Neal's question.

"Only that I'm the only person you trust. It was a bit too deep for me, but I'll let it pass just this once," Peter said then grinned as it elicited a laugh from Neal, and the heavy moment between the two broke. "Now, El has cereal for breakfast and I'm pretty sure the toy is still in the box."

"Ha-ha, that's a good one Peter, since I distinctly remember you giving it to Satchmo as a chew toy!" Neal joked back, as if the very thought of the poor toy being mauled by a yellow Labrador offended him.

Peter stood, and pointed a finger at the con-man. "It was either that toy, or my shoes. Easy pick. Now, we have to be to work in-" After consulting his worn watch, he continued, "An hour. Go upstairs and clean up. I know that you have a suit lying around here somewhere."

The sheepish smile that crossed Neal's face confirmed that fact. "You know me too well then Peter," he said.

"I'm not so sure about that," the agent muttered under his breath as he watched Neal try and stand up.

Tried, being the key word, since it seemed his balance was still a bit off. Before he could hit the floor, strong arms hauled him back up and the room settled. Once sure that Neal was steady, Peter released him.

"You okay there?" he asked Neal with concern. Peter hovered for a second to make sure that Neal wasn't going to fall over again.

Neal waved him off, "I'm fine!" and said shortly, " Just got a head rush for a moment. I'll go get changed."

As Neal shuffled over to the staircase he began a slow climb up, while Peter watched until the man finally went out of sight. Once sure that the man could not see him, the sudden urge to draw his gun and shoot something almost overcame the normally cool FBI agent.

When he had first entered the room, it had been with the full intention of asking Neal about Chuck and Sarah. For the past day, it had really bothered him that he had never heard the names before, and it seemed like Neal had been acquaintances with both. He had thought that he knew almost as much about the con man as Neal did himself. From shoe size to birthday, he knew about it.

What he didn't know was how these two fit into the puzzle that was Neal Caffrey, or whatever his name was. Nothing in any of Neal's files indicated that he even knew a Chuck. In addition, he was going to ask about the comment about getting shot, which was a bit more worrisome than either Chuck or Sarah.

Maybe the cold look that had flashed across the grey eyes made him wary. It was just such a un-Neal like expression that it had startled him. He had seen the same look in killers during interrogations, and from what Peter knew, Neal was not a violent person. White-collar crime was about the intellectual thrill, not so much the blood lust that other criminals possessed. It still worried him slightly.

Even though he had just looked up Neal's file, there was just something odd about it. There was that time when Neal had dropped off the map, and there was a lot of missing background information. When he thought about it, Peter only saw what Neal allowed him to. He had no doubt that the con man had gotten a kick out of the fact that Peter knew his shoe size, but couldn't catch him at forgery. Except for the bonds of course, and years later he was still wary about just how easy it had been to catch him in the end.

"Honey, your cereal is getting soggy!" El's voice filtered out from the kitchen.

His head whipped around at the sound, and sighing, Peter ran a hand over his face. There were times when he just wished he could retire and take El to the Caribbean. This was one of those times.

* * *

Tired grey eyes shown out in the reflection cast in the mirror. Dark bags were under his eyes, and although he had spent the better part of the day sleeping, he was still exhausted. The urge to watch the image shatter into a million pieces almost overcame him, but since it was not his house, Neal refrained. Instead he gripped the Burke's sink so hard that his knuckles turned white and took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

He was extremely unsettled. A portion of his memory was gone. Moreover, Neal had been drugged and incoherent. That shouldn't have happened. He'd been taught to keep his guard up at all times, but he had certainly failed this time.

For one thing, he had been tolerant to many drugs at one point in time. His training had forced him to; and in the line of work, it was almost expected. Having to inject everything from truth serums to a few poisons into his body on purpose wasn't his idea of fun, but he did what he had to. While he couldn't build up immunity per say, he could build up a tolerance to the drugs so that his body could handle them better. The last time that he had been exposed to a sedative like that was almost five years ago, and that he just didn't like to think about. The white walls of the room that they had kept him in were sometimes still in his dreams. The sedative he had been given then may have kept him rather loopy, but he still had some control over himself. This time, not so much, and as his body wasn't prepared for the shock of sedation he had completely lost it. He hated sedatives.

Another thing was that Peter wasn't the only one watching body language. When Neal had asked about what was said in the clinic, Peter looked uncomfortable. So he believed what the agent told him, but he also had the feeling that there was more to it. While the whole episode had taken about an hour, he remembered waking up in the car once and catching the time, that was still an extremely long period. Anything could have happened or been said, and he was worried something had slipped.

He heaved a huge sigh, then turned the faucet on and gathered some warm water. As he splashed it on his face then watched the water swirl back down the drain, he suddenly got an idea. Looking back up into the mirror, he caught the eye of his reflection. He knew how silly the idea really was, but maybe it would actually work.

Water dripped from his face, but for the moment he ignored it and tried to focus. Just in case he fell over, Neal braced himself against the sink and purposefully thought about the clinic. Everything from the color of the wall to the feel of the gurney he had been on.

Neal had never used the Intersect like this before. However, he figured that it was just like any other computer and all computer systems had a hard drive that a user could access. Maybe if he applied the same principle to the computer inside his brain, Neal was finally able to access the memory of his drugged escapade.

For some reason, the library at Stanford University came to mind. It could have been because he had spent a lot of time there or perhaps it was just something that his brain had subconsciously pulled forward to help organize the Intersect files. Due to the fact that the Intersect 2.0's effect on the brain was not really an exact science, so he could only assume. He could almost see the books on the red shelves, and he could feel his body forming a sad smile. It was an odd feeling for sure, similar to an out of body experience, yet different because he could still feel his body.

'_I wonder if Chuck ever experimented with it like this,' _He thought as he 'watched' bookshelves flash by.

Finally, the movement stopped, and like any other flash images flooded his senses, rushing across his vision as his brain pulled the right memory forward. Thankfully, he was still looking through his own eyes, but the scene was on fast-forward.

The first thing that flashed by was the music. Neal winced in his mind at the slightly off key singing he had done, then the memory continued with Peter showing up. Pain flooded his senses as he fell to the floor in the memory. The drugs had dulled it originally, but his mind still registered the fall as painful. A blurred corridor, followed by being set down in the conference room came after the fall.

Now came the worst part, and the reason he understood Peter's hesitation. He felt Chuck's name slip past his lips. This was not good. Horrified, he watched the rest of the scene play out and mentally groaned as he realized he also let slip Sarah's name. Suddenly the connection was cut as panic surged through him. There weren't many times when he let it overcome him, but this was one of them.

Back in the real world now, Neal's legs gave out and his grip on the sink loosened. His muscles had gotten lax, perhaps a reaction to accessing the Intersect in such an odd way. Being a parallel to a computer, he guessed it was like running out of RAM memory; it could complete only so many tasks at once. Absent-mindedly, he filed away the idea to experiment some more as he struggled to pull his body back up.

He succeeded, only for a horrendous headache to make itself known, and glancing in the mirror, he saw that his grey eyes were very bloodshot. However, right now, his appearance was not the issue. What he had said to Peter was the issue, and tightening his grip on the cold porcelain, he hung his aching head then uttered a single expletive.

"ghuy'cha'"

* * *

The End

* * *

Translations:

**ghuy'cha – Klingon for 'damn it'**


End file.
